Drama
by htenywg
Summary: Life out there is a walking, talking, continual drama. Slash, HD. Dedicated to Arrhythmic Song, because this quote is hers.


_Life out there is a walking, talking, continual drama._

Drama 

There was something comforting about walking down the corridor to where the staircases were, walking down the staircases to the first floor, then to the Great Hall, and finally out to the Quidditch pitch, and then to the shed.

Maybe it was because he'd trodden these corridors so many times. They gave him familiarity and solidness, even if it they were fleetingly temporary in the eyes of the immortals. They gave him the feeling of being constant, unlike so many things in his life now.

It soothed him, the thought of things staying the same. He had a single-minded determination about adventures and excitement – if he had to go through it for the greater good, he would. Not that he would ever learn to live comfortably side-by-side with it; he'd really much rather disappear off somewhere quiet after graduation, maybe Godric's Hollow where he could be close to his parents; but if he had to, he _would_.

That's why he was so tired and stretched out nowadays. He'd been worn thin running about from class to class, practicing hard during Quidditch practice for the matches that were just as tiring because they tested his speed and agility, qualities that were very physical, and made up part of the reason why Quidditch was, after all, a sport. And to top off the need to keep his Seeker abilities oiled and in perfect working order, he was Quidditch captain for Gryffindor and was often required to do this duty and that duty, and to strategise for the team, and even just to appear calm and a pillar of strength for the good of the team's morale. That took the most out of him, he thought.

He was also tired out by the many late nights he had to keep just to study for the tests that seemed to come more frequently, and also by the piles of homework issued by the Professors. Yes, he understood that he was a sixth year now, and his next year was an important and crucial one, but sometimes he still felt like tearing up every sheet of parchment he saw.

He had also been busy after classes, going to places to do things that some part of his mind still couldn't accept, and yelled at him to W_ake up! You're dreaming, you shouldn't be doing this!_ However, it was the only solace he had.

As a matter of fact, he was going to it now.

Harry walked towards the Quidditch shed, like so many times before, day _or_ night. He figured he had walked this path so many times he could do it with his eyes blindfolded if he had to. He wasn't very surprised to see a small glow of light under the crack of the door as he stopped in front of him; in fact, he would have been surprised if there hadn't been one.

His lips quirked just a little bit and thought to himself, _Seems like the thing I wouldn't have expected to be very constant is currently the most constant thing in my life yet. Such a small thing, and yet so comforting._

He knocked softly, thrice, and without waiting, pushed the door open.

Just as he had expected, Draco was there, sitting cross-legged against the wall, arms crossed. He hadn't bothered to get on his feet, even when Harry had walked in without waiting for his response – he was used to it, and he knew who it was, anyway.

Only Harry would bother to knock three times, he thought amusedly. 

It had been the small things that had brought them together, in the end. Draco's general unhappiness and insecurity, Harry's loneliness made them easy targets for one another. Their mutual physical attraction was extra fuel, and what set the fire burning was Draco's attraction to Harry's noble, gentle heart, something he thought he could never have, and Harry's silent wish to know more about Draco than the heartless git he showed himself to be, a wish he thought he could never have fulfilled.

It was an attraction of light to dark, and dark to light. And the more they found out about one another, the more things turned grey.

Since then, they had been meeting like this, clandestine meetings in the Quidditch shed, just to spend time together after a long day where they had to be apart, both behaviour-wise and emotions-wise.

Just another burden to have to hold in his heart, of course, Harry realised, not without a touch of irony. Yet he took comfort in the fact that at least he did not have to face it alone.

He had Draco, after all.

Draco admired the way the magical fires he had cast threw their shadows on Harry's lithe body. As Harry slipped into the shed and quietly closed the door behind him, he enjoyed the play of dark and light on his figure, and felt his breath catch in his throat as he thought about how unconsciously handsome Harry could be. He smiled, a sincere smile, as Harry walked towards him and dropped down to his left. Soon, he felt the heavy weight of Harry's body leaning against him as Harry let his head fall on his shoulder.

Draco let his arms fall from their crossed position so that his right arm could encircle Harry's head gently, protectively. He brought Harry's head down to his lap slowly, and Harry slid easily into a more comfortable position. Draco's left hand started running through Harry's unruly, coarse hair. He loved the feeling of Harry's hair against his skin. It tickled him somewhat, but it also excited him, and if he ever doubted that any of his meetings with Harry were just dreams, he knew that they could not be just that because he would never have been able to dream up such texture and the feelings it gave him.

"At least this position won't give you a crick in you neck," he quietly jested, breaking the easy silence between them.

"Well, yeah," he whispered back, half-smiling. "At least that's one less thing to bother me."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Care to share?"

Harry sighed and shifted. He started to tell Draco about all the things that had been catching up with him – homework, tests, Quidditch – and slowly, gradually, everything came out. His fears of being unable to live up to the high expectations set by everyone, his frustration that such expectations even existed, his worries that one day his friends would be endangered at the hands of Voldemort –

" – even you, Draco," Harry continued quietly. And although he had said that in the exact same volume and tone as he had been speaking in from the start, Draco felt a shudder run deliciously down his spine. It was still a pleasant shock that Harry could care so much for him.

"I worry about us. I worry that one day, everyone will find out about us. Much as I would like to defiantly stand in the middle of the Quidditch pitch and announce that I'm in love with you during a game, I can't, because I'm afraid of what will happen…"

Draco smiled at the mental image. It would have been nice if they could do just that, and not bother about the consequences.

"…we all know Voldemort hasn't been defeated yet. He hasn't shown up, but that doesn't mean he isn't around. And I know the first person he'd come after will be me, and it's likely that he'll hurt anyone close to me in the meantime, and that includes you, if ever word of us gets out…"

_Oh no,_ Draco thought grimly to himself. _Not just the Dark Lord will be after me; he'll have to wait behind a long line of Malfoys. In fact, I'm not sure whom I'm more afraid of._

"..and I worry about you too, Draco. At least I have Hermione and Ron to count on, although Ron doesn't really approve but still grudgingly accepts us, but you… you don't have anyone."

"Who said so?" This was the first thing Draco had said to break into Harry's rambling list of anxieties, and Harry gave a slight jolt.

"Well… isn't it true?"

"No," Draco leaned down and captured Harry's lips in a small kiss, sucking slightly on his lips before breaking away. He said with all seriousness, "I have you."

Harry stared up into Draco's eyes. They held each other's gaze for a time, and unspoken feelings and words hung between them. Draco had stopped messing with Harry's hair, and they just gazed at each other, still except for their chests rising and falling with their breathing.

Harry felt his eyes mist over, and he closed them. "All the more I can't afford to lose you," he muttered, and felt tears roll down his cheeks. "Not like- like-"

"I know," Draco leaned down again and kissed away his tears, before laying his cheek on Harry's forehead. He knew Harry had never really gotten over his godfather's death. The anger and rage had passed after a few months of grieving, but after the death of the person who was the closest thing he could get for a family, he had just seemed sadder, and older; more mellowed out and more mature. "I know."

Gradually, Harry's tears went away, and his breathing returned to normal. Draco sat up again, and this time, it was he who spoke.

"You know, Potter," and the term was used endearingly, "I'm starting to believe in fate. I believe fate led us to have met in Madam Malkin's more than six years ago. I believe we were meant to hate each other, so that when we fell in love, it would have been all the more bittersweet. I believe we were meant to fall in love, so that we would have somebody to hang on to, so that we wouldn't really be alone. Maybe you were meant to fall in love with me now, so that if either of us died soon, we would have been able to die knowing we had fallen in love. No- " he placed a finger to Harry's lips as he opened his mouth. "You've got to face it, Harry. One day we would all have to die. It's just a matter of when."

Harry closed his eyes again, and when he opened them, they held dark anguish in them.

"But why? Why can't we just know when and how we're going to die, so that we can plan accordingly, and live our lives to the fullest so that we know that when we die, we would have done everything we'd wanted to? Why?"

Draco was taken aback. Harry had obviously given much thought into this. It was understandable, really, given that he _was_ The Boy Who Lived When He Should Have Died, And Knew Those Who Died When They Should Have Lived.

After a moment, he said, "Life is like drama, I guess. The curtain rises and the characters come to life. Many things happen, and they come fast and furious, and in the best dramas all these events and things are intertwined. But then, eventually, the curtains have to fall."

"So life is like drama," Harry said quietly to himself, staring into space somewhere between his feet. Suddenly, he looked up, and Draco saw his eyes were sparkling. "And you're the prima donna?"

"Of course," and Harry could see the arrogant Draco in his eyes. "But what's a prima donna without her, or rather, his love interest?" And the arrogance was gone, and Draco's grey eyes mirrored the humour in his.

Harry grinned like a shark eyeing his prey, and in a swift movement brought Draco's head down so their lips could meet, engage and do some ravishing.

Half an hour, two shirts unbuttoned halfway, a couple of love bites on each other's collarbones, and a lot of laughter later, the two breathless boys lay side by side, arms just touching, holding hands and just staring up into the ceiling of the Quidditch shed.

"The best dramas have bits of tragedy, comedy and romance thrown in, right?" Harry dreamily asked.

"I guess," came the reply.

Harry tilted his head towards Draco so he was looking at him out of the corner of his eyes.

"You know what, Malfoy?" Draco turned his head towards Harry, saw his green eyes shining with emotion that he too felt, saw his contented grin which he could not help but allow onto his own lips, and heard him say, with tones so low and sweet, "I think the I like the romantic bits best."

And Draco decided he was comfortable right where he was.


End file.
